Poetry

When I flew into a storm
my words collided with thunder
and stars fell on ashes of dead.
I wanted to scream. Seeking a freeze
on past.Future was stretching its arms.
A calling.Erratic explosions?

The ruins were becoming worthy
of worship.Hunger exudes the trapped
smell. You light an earthen lamp for
split masks, the face will never be known.

Only there were two concrete eyes
darting without thoughts, telling without sound.
There is no water, only million suns.


tish Verma